Bro, I'm not an Undead!

Maqi.

Large trees rose into the sky, their canopies fettered with the harsh light that bellowed brightly from above.

Their thick green leaves barely swayed as there was no wind to make them stray, their barks holding moisture that spoke of the current cool and the recent heavy rain.

Below these trees that seemed to be the sole populating species marring this forest, muddy grounds could be seen where reptilian beasts waddled with their scaled bulks while keeping away from a certain radius where monstrous waves of power were diffusing into the air.

High up on the branch to a massive Yukione tree that bore apple-like fruits with a blood red hue, their size akin to that of a man, five figures sat upon it – four on chairs that seemed to sprout from the massive branch itself and one who seemed comfortable being seated on the moist bark.

“Quite the interesting meeting place. I expected a lavish room with fine drink,” a man donning what looked like a baggy robe said with a light smile, his heavy lashes making his eyes twinkle.

The man was bald with no facial hair to speak of, but his skin was smooth with a golden tan, contrasting his small pink lips and eerie white eyes.

He could see perfectly however, as the white was not of the blind.

The robes he wore seemed more like blankets that hid his body and rejected any visual attempt at guessing his physique.

“This is not Emeradis or Pelian. We are not biased to such finery. To swords or common weaponry that do well to make everyone’s capability the same. Do you not know that the finest asses are cultivated from sitting on the raw wet trees and drinking directly from the source?” an elderly woman who sat over the branch said with a mocking, yet proud smile.

She wore something akin to a large, dry hide with little furs, different shades of grey over it as it was shaped like a dress that covered only up to her bosom.

She had a shaved head, with long tufts of white hair only being seen at the very centre, much like an old style mohawk.

Her swollen eyes that only revealed her dull blue eyes through narrow slits and her wrinkly skin told of her more than a 100 years of life, as did her words…somewhat.

One look at her was enough to determine wisdom and power beyond the common bounds.

The power of a variant of Mages only cultured by Maqi.

Shamanic Mages.

The bald man smiled to the old woman’s response as he pulled on the large red fruit overhead, feeling its plumb and juicy innards.

“I will not argue with your words. There are no finer women in this world than in Maqi. However, Emeradis has no bias towards the common swords like Pelian. Knights and such… they are primitive concepts. Or have you forgotten? Pelian is the youngest among all the nations in Feinheath. So young that it tends to make the most foolish of decisions. Do you not agree, First Horn?” the bald man turned to the giant of a man who sat on the largest and most exquisitely crafted chair made from the hard flesh of the Yukione tree.

His thick chest was bare and a well furnished reddish-orange hide was strapped around his waist, over a free pair of black pants that were made of a material akin to silk.

His eyes that looked much like those of a beast with yellow pupils that constantly dilated, flickered as he entertained this figure.

“It is but the err of a sprout. Pelian has little strength to give it any form of security in the event of a war. Only six households are worthy of any mention in the entire nation. Let us not punish them for their folly,” the man said in a voice that transcended the realms of ‘deep.’

The other three people here dressed much like this large man, merely listened to the conversation between the three as they had not right to speak when the Head of the Nation, the First Horn, was present.

This was even true for the young man who sat to this man’s right, his appearance being the splitting image of the man on this throne.

The bald man hunched over and looked at the First Horn with a pleased look.

“I am pleased we are on the same page. I have been sent to deliver a proposal to you by the Monarch. He also does not wish to assault Pelian for this. That would be… counter to our productivity as humans. Therefore…” the bald man paused as his eyes turned sharp. “…is it not better to strike Opungale instead?”

The First Horn’s eyes did not show any reaction and neither did the rest of his body.

“Amusing,” the old woman who sat on the branch said with a hideous grin. “You bring the concept of such a large scale war to us so casually… Don’t you know, war is the richest sea from which our people drink and thrive from?”

The bald man’s smile grew wider.

“Of course. Aigas has been far too peaceful. Rats who try to instil fear through crude means bore us as they do you. Necromancers and foul pawns. Let us ignore them and strike the real prize. We have plenty a reason to wage a war, many a sailor who return home with distorted minds, many a warrior who lose the taste of war over the seas… and a gnashing annoyance at seeing those filthy long ears…”

The old woman burst into raucous laughter while the First Horn remained stern.

The tall and bulky man took a few breaths before giving his response.

“Why look for reason in it? If blood is to be shed, let it be shed in the purest of ways. With no excuses or pretence…. but with raw carnal instinct!”

***

Genhuis City.

A slender figure with just enough fat in the right places walked out with her moist body dripping droplets of water that halted in mid-air a moment before they touched the floor of the luxurious bedroom.

She pulled on her long, cherry hair, squeezing out the humidity within it which manifested as lumps of water that floated from the hair and halted in space.

Her naked figure as she elegantly walked over to the large windows that showed the massive city beyond could not have looked more mesmerising as with the curtains open wide, the sunlight made her curves and skin shine.

Her long ears twitched as she sighed.

“This is so much better than home…” she said as she stretched her hands while moaning. “I should enjoy this while it lasts.”

As she said this, from her back, two streams of golden peach lights bloomed.

They brightened and wiggled like the wings they were, fluttering as their owner desired as if they were being stretched out after a very long time.

To one who looked from the side, it would be like seeing an ancient forger grab a hold of two wisps of light and stretch them like pieces of soft wire, watching beautiful peach patterns meld over them.

Such a phenomenon of absolute beauty caused a change over the body of Darwel as her identity wasn’t limited to just being a daughter of royalty.

The glistening of her skin as the wings appeared, as if glitter had been immaculately sprinkled over, as well as the flood of power that burst from her body in this moment represented her mixed blood as a higher form of existence entirely…